Reifying
by whack sparrow
Summary: 'Reify' - to make  something abstract  more concrete or real.  Adopted from HolidayBoredom.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer - Yeah, still not Eoin Colfer, strangely enough..._

**To make (something abstract) more concrete or real; to regard or treat (an idea, concept, etc.) as if having material existence.**

_"reify, v.". OED Online. June 2011. Oxford University Press. .com/view/Entry/161514?redirectedFrom=reify (accessed August 18, 2011)_**.**

Chapter One - Pillows

Her fingers jittered against the bed rail.

'You going to talk to me today, Artemis?'

He didn't respond, just continued to stare at the wall.

'Artemis?' She leant towards him. 'Artemis?'

'Captain Short?'

Holly turned. A young sprite was stood in the doorway, his yellow surgeon's mask hanging loose around his neck.

'I'm afraid you're going to have to leave,' he said. 'We need to prepare the patient for surgery.'

Several orderlies filed into the room behind him, making a beeline for Artemis's bed. One medi-elf pressed a button behind his headboard and the mattress began to rise.

'There we are, Mister Fowl,' she said reaching out for his elbow. 'If you could just sit up for us, there's a good lad.'

Holly rounded on the surgeon. 'What are you doing? You can't just come in here like this! Where's Doctor Argon?'

The sprite motioned over her shoulder to a few of the nurses. 'Doctor Argon has been re-assigned to other patients. We're here to take over.'

There was a loud buzzing noise from behind her and the Captain whipped around. Artemis was sat in a chair by the side of his bed, half his fringe being pushed back by the hand of a pinch-faced pixie. In her other hand she held a pair of clippers.

Holly was furious. '_What are you doing?_'

The boy's only visible eye stared out at her, bloodshot and weary.

'We need to clear the incision point of any risk of infection,' said the surgeon. 'Usually we would avoid shaving but in this case time is of the essence.'

He gave a curt nod and the pixie's hand swept forward. The clipper blades bit into Artemis' hair line and the first black clump fell to the floor.

'Where's Doctor Argon?' demanded Holly. 'He said surgery wouldn't take place for another four months. Who gave you permission? _Who_?'

'We have received permission to perform a bilateral cingulotomy from the Haven Healers–'

'And what about _his_ permission?'

Artemis's face was screwed up in obvious discomfort, both hands clenched in his lap. The pixie tilted his head forward and another thick tuft fell onto his knees.

'We don't need it,' replied the sprite coolly. 'The boy is a minor and his mother emailed the papers through this morning. She wanted us to wait until she could get a shuttle down here to see him but we advised her not to delay.'

Holly could feel her chest tightening. She had been left in charge of him for ten days – _ten days_ – whilst Butler and Angeline returned above ground. It had been the worse ten days of his whole therapy. He had fainted six times due to screaming fits, refused to enter the bathroom without tapping out the entirety of Beethoven's 5th, smashed a vase of freesias over an orderly's head and, after a particularly nasty "fit of the fours" (as Mulch liked to call them), ripped out all his finger nails.

On the sixth day he had stopped. He had got up in the morning, washed, dressed and just sat on his bed staring at the wall. If Holly or anyone else asked him to do something he would comply with docile obedience, but otherwise remained completely still. At first Holly wasn't worried by the lack of communication – it had been a nice change after the week she'd had – but after two days of talking to what was basically a respiring mannequin she knew the complex had reached a stage too far. After three days she had been close to despair.

Now this.

'Back onto the bed, Artemis,' said a nurse, her tone gentle but firm, 'That's it, careful now.'

Holly watched as the teenager clambered back into his cot. As soon as he was clear two orderlies lifted the bedrails and locked them into place. Artemis sat cross-legged atop his covers, observing the scene around him with simple, passive interest.

'Is this it then?' she demanded, her cheeks flushed. 'Is this your last resort?'

The sprite's patience was clearly wearing thin but his professionalism forced him answer civilly. 'This is the final option. Argon held this off for as long as possible but now it's time.'

A medi-elf appeared at his elbow and the surgeon turned away. Holly swallowed hard, her head swimming.

'Hey,' she said, forcing stretching her mouth into a smile. 'Are you alright?'

Artemis didn't reply. Bereft of his suit and well-oiled hair he looked like a lion stripped of teeth and mane. His eyes, seemingly twice the size without anything to frame them, were down-cast, tired, underlined by shadowed bruises. His spine was curved, his skin the colour of paper.

'Oh, Artemis,' whispered Holly, raising a hand to his scalp. 'Look at you.'

He didn't react, simply stared at her blankly. Her smile crumbled.

'Scuse me!'

Holly was elbowed aside as a gnome kicked the break off the bed and several orderlies began to push Artemis away. She lurched after them.

'You have to stay _here_, Captain,' insisted the surgeon, quickly blocking her with his body. 'You can't accompany him into surgery.'

Holly bunched her fists. 'I can and I will. Just give me a uniform and spray me with some disinfectant gel – what else do I have to do?'

'I am not having you in my theatre. You will only get in the way.'

'Doctor Argon–'

'With all due respect, _Captain_, the human is my patient now and _not_ Doctor Argon's. There is no reason for you to be in the room during the procedure; the patient will be unconscious throughout. You will only be a hindrance. Do you _want_ to be a hindrance?'

The doors banged shut at the other end of the room and Holly saw that the bed had gone.

'You may see your _friend_ after the operation,' said the sprite, sweeping the short distance to the doors, 'but until then I'd advise you get some sleep.'

The doors swung wide and then he too was gone.

Holly reached for the guest chair, lights dancing in her eyes.

_Artemis. Gods, Artemis._

With her head in her hands she sank down, staring at the hair-strewn floor between her fingers. After a few moments she reached out and brushed some of the strands with her finger-tips.

_Oh Gods_, she thought, gathering a small curl and lifting it into her lap. _Butler's going to kill me._

* * *

><p>Artemis woke to the sound of a car-alarm.<p>

_What on Earth...?_

Someone was crashing a symbol in the centre of his skull keeping perfect time with the claxon. What insufferable cretin was making all that noise? And why weren't the orderlies dealing with it?

He moaned and pushed his face further into his pillow.

'Go... stop it,' mumbled a voice from his side.

'No,' he grunted back. 'It's not _my_ job.'

Then he realised what he'd just said.

_There's someone in my bed._

The mattress rocked as the mystery occupant rolled over flopping an equally mystery arm over the blankets at his waist. With a jolt he realised he was naked.

He sat up sharply, keeping the covers held close to his chest. The intruder's head was turned away but by the dim light he could tell that it was female. Long, angel-like curls were draped over her pillow and most of her back was visible. With an ever deepening blush he realised she was naked too.

_Did ... did I have sexual intercourse last night?_

He thought back.

_No, you had lima-bean stew and treacle pudding last night. Oh, and emergency brain surgery._

His hands flew up to his scalp. Thick, slightly greasy hair met with his fingertips. He probed further, feeling his scalp for any incision lines... nothing. How strange.

The girl beside him moaned and freed her other arm from beneath her. The movement resulted in the covers shifting down further and Artemis clasped his eyes shut. Keeping them shut, he moved the blankets carefully back over her. Then he felt a hand brush against his cheek.

'Morning,' whispered the girl.

Artemis' heart nearly shut down. 'Min- Minerva?'

She smiled at him mischievously. 'Hey.'

He dropped the cover and fell instantly out the other side of the bed.

The girl frowned. 'Al?'

He scrambled to his feet, pressing a pillow protectively to his nether regions. Minerva was on her knees.

'Al, what's wrong?'

Artemis glanced at her, and then quickly looked away.

'For God's sake!' he hissed. 'Put something on!'

For a moment her expression fell, but then she smirked, biting her lower lip. 'Why...? It's not as if you haven't seen it all before...'

Artemis cringed, desperately looking anywhere but at the bed. The room was not well lit; he could make out only silhouettes: a lamp, his violin case, the naked Minerva.

_Stop looking at her._

'Why are you here?' he demanded, eyes clenched shut again. 'I'm recovering from a mental disorder. How did you even get to Atlantis? Did you- did you _drug _me or something?'

Minerva's voice was outraged. 'No, I did not _drug_ you. Fucking hell, Al! This is _my_ dorm. _You_were the one phoning me at three in the morning begging me to let you in.' He heard her get off the bed and a wardrobe door bang. 'And what the fuck do you mean _Atlantis_? Are you _on_ something?'

Artemis didn't know. There were so many things wrong with this situation his usually more than capable brain was struggling to process it all. He tentatively opened his eyes to see a dressing-gown clad Minerva glaring at him, her arms folded tightly to her chest.

'Where... where are my clothes?' he asked, deciding to start with the basics.

She smirked nastily. 'You only came in a thong and I ate that last night. Remember?'

'You... ate it?'

'A-Hmm. Every. Last. _Bit_ of it.'

Artemis put a hand to his head. The headache had worsened and a strange bubbling sensation was stirring at the pit of his stomach. It was most unpleasant.

'I'm going to vomit,' he realised.

Minerva's eyes widened.

'Out!' she bellowed. 'Out, _now_!'

He scrabbled at a door handle to his left, bile rising in his throat, only to be faced with a tower of towels.

Minerva was beside herself. '_That's the airing cupboard_. Door! Here!'

He sprinted past her, vaguely aware of the breeze on his exposed rear end, and was met with a small landing and an additional five doors: two in front of him, two on the right and another only a metre from Minerva's.

She gestured frantically to the right. '_That one!_'

He lurched forward and let fly. Most of it landed on target.

_Blue_, thought Artemis as he dropped to his knees, _why _blue_?_

'Min?' croaked a voice. 'Min, what's all the noise?'

Locks were clicking open and he could hear the soft pad of slippers shuffling out onto the landing.

'What's going on?' groaned someone.

'It's _eight_ am, Minnie.'

'Christ, what's that smell?'

Artemis felt panic swell in his chest and he wretched again.

'Someone's in the bog.'

The door behind him creaked open. There was silence and then-

'Oh. My. Fucking. God.'

Artemis took several steadying breaths before turning around. He was met with four very stunned faces.

'Aw, mate,' said the only boy of the group, his surprise turning quickly to glee, 'this is _classic_.'

'What the _fuck_ are you doing in our toilet?' demanded a girl still wearing last night's makeup.

'I...' Artemis clutched at his pillow. 'Minerva...'

Every face turned to the blonde girl still stood in the door of her room.

'Don't look at me,' she said innocently. 'Never seen him before in my life.'

There was the tramp of heavy boots on stairs and a red-faced man wearing a cowboy hat and an olive work-fleece clambered onto the landing.

'Inspection!' he wheezed. 'Get your rooms ready! I'm here to see that you're all complying with the college fire safety –' Then he spotted Artemis. His piggy eyes widened as he took in the cushion and the naked, quivering body behind it. 'What the bloody hell...'

'He doesn't go here!' trilled a pasty-faced girl with stringy hair. 'None of us know who he is. We just found him this minute, in the loo.'

The man's hands balled into fists. 'Is that right?'

Artemis sensed danger and shot a glance over at Minerva. A small part of his brain registered how much older she looked. The last time he had seen her she had been fifteen years old – wash-board thin and barely five feet tall. This girl must be at least nineteen, curvy, and at least five foot eight.

_Well, this _is _your dream, genius._

The cowboy took a sudden step forward. 'Get out of it!' he bellowed. 'Go on! Get out of it! Bloody _pervert_!'

Artemis hesitated, analysing his options, before realising he had no choice but to run. He bolted across the landing and down the stairs, the porter thundering after him. The stairway was narrow and uneven, but as he soon found out, quite congested.

'Whoa there, sexy,' laughed one girl as they collided.

'Sorry,' he muttered, quickly bypassing her and sprinting down another flight.

'Nice arse, lover boy.'

'Gonna give us a peek then?'

'Run, Forrest, run!'

Jeers and wolf-whistles followed him down every identical floor. His feet slapped painfully against the concrete and his arms ached as teenager after teenager attempted to snatch away his pillow. One boy took a swipe at his backside and his hand connected with a sharp crack. The following roar of laughter was deafening. Eventually, after much torment, Artemis reached the ground floor and the main reception. The porter from upstairs had obviously radioed ahead and there were three angry, uniformed men waiting for him in a line.

'Come here,' growled one, making a lunge for him.

Artemis twisted, surprising even himself, and managed to dance out of the way of the way of his spade-like hands. He charged towards the doors, praying that they hadn't had the foresight to lock them. They hadn't. He emerged onto a busy road teeming with traffic and pedestrians.

'Nice arse!' yelled one driver, leaning out from their window.

_Hmm, _thought Artemis, _so I've been told._

He hobbled quickly down the front steps and onto the pavement, the porters in steady pursuit.

'Hey!' called a particularly dumpy one, puffing heavily. 'Stay... where you... are!'

Artemis gripped his pillow.

_I think not._

He braced his legs to run when - _crash._Artemis was tackled sideways, straight into the side of a parked _Mercedes_. He gasped, winded, and tried to get up.

'Police!' announced a voice from behind him. 'I'd advise you to stay down, sir!'

'_What?_' Artemis twisted, stricken, but was slammed back to the car. The metal banged painfully against his legs, stomach and –

A huffing porter stooped to the ground, snatching up Artemis' abandoned cushion. The teenager groaned and creased forwards, his forehead sinking onto the bonnet.

'If you would stand, sir,' barked the officer at his back; a woman by what Artemis could tell of her voice.

His only response was to moan louder. She jerked him upright.

'So what's the problem here gentlemen?'

'_He_,' spat a porter whose voice Artemis recognised as the one from upstairs. 'Has been perving around our girls. I found him naked upstairs doing God-knows-what in the toilet-'

'I wasn't _perving_, I was vomiting,' snapped Artemis. 'One of _your girls _had just thrown me naked out of their room.'

There was a chorus of whistles and jeers from behind him and Artemis realised that the teenagers from the stairs had come out to watch.

'He's lying,' insisted the cowboy porter. 'I asked them all and none of them had a clue who he was!'

The officer nudged against Artemis' spine. 'Well?'

'_Well,_' snapped the boy, 'obviously this is a misunderstanding.'

'_Well_, he seems to think it's pretty clear.'

Artemis snorted. 'It's his word against mine – why don't you do your job and carry out a little policing, hmm?

The officer's grip tightened painfully on his arms and Artemis winced. 'Who was the girl who threw you out?'

'Minerva. Minerva Paradiso.'

'Is there a Minerva here?' called the police woman. 'A Minerva Paradiso?'

'Here!'

Her approach was accompanied by a dozen whistles and calls. The crowds were obviously enjoying themselves.

'Can I help you officer?' asked Minerva, smiling sweetly.

'This young man has been accused of public harassment but he says he was with you.'

'Really?' exclaimed Minerva. 'How odd.' There was another round of jeering from the front doors.

'He says he was thrown out of your room and was merely using the bathroom when Mister...'

'Kirkenhazard,' supplied the cowboy porter quickly.

Artemis frowned; he had heard that name somewhere before.

'When Mister Kirkenhazard here found him... vomiting, and came to the wrong conclusion.'

Minerva frowned, apparently distressed. 'I don't know,' she said. 'I don't _think_ I recognise him. May... May I have a closer look just to make sure?'

Artemis gritted his teeth as he was turned bodily to face her.

Minerva furrowed her brow apparently thinking hard. Behind her the college had erupted into a new cacophony of cat-calls, shrieks and digital shutter clicks.

'Hmm,' she said, tapping a finger to her chin. 'Nope. Definitely never seen him before.'

Artemis was pressed back onto the bonnet. He felt his arms being shoved up behind his back and the cold snap of handcuffs connect around his wrists. 'Minerva!' he shouted over his shoulder. 'For God's sake, Miner–'

'I am arresting you on the charge of public harassment,' said the female officer. 'You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.'

And with that he was pulled off the car and marched forward. 'Minerva!' he yelled, twisting towards her. '_Minerva_!'

A uniformed arm reached out and snatched the pillow back from the pug-faced porter.

'Here!' he protested. 'That's Duke College property that is!'

'Not anymore,' muttered the police woman then - 'Kelp! _Finally_!'

Artemis lurched. A male police officer was hurrying towards them up the pavement, at least three layers of wool wrapped around his neck. He was tall but skinny as a broom handle, his nose, forehead and cheeks smothered with freckles. His pale eyes locked with Artemis's.

_Grub Kelp._

'Holly!' gasped the policeman, his cheeks scarlet. 'What are you doing? What's he-?'

The pillow appeared in his hands.

'Here,' she snapped, 'Hold that up for him. And how many times do I have to tell you? When we're on duty you will address me as W.P.C. Short.'

The blood pounded in Artemis's ears.

'W-What happened?' asked Kelp, still utterly bewildered. 'I only went to change my gloves-'

'A lot happened. This guy's been caught flashing girls in the college dorms.'

Artemis struggled to turn around. 'Holly!' he gasped. 'Holly, it's me!'

'Eyes front, please, sir,' replied Holly. 'I don't particularly want to see any more of you than I'm already seeing.'

They drew level with the police car and Kelp scrambled to open the back door. As Holly's hand pressed to the top of his head, pushing him down and inside, Artemis managed to glance up.

Hazel eyes, hooked nose, plump lips and a shock of red hair peeped out from beneath a regulation bowler hat. Her ears were not pointed, her left eye was not blue and she was well above one metre in height. She was petite, not tiny: her hair was short but not shorn. Artemis drank it in. Holly was human – a human being.

'Holly,' he whispered. '_Holly_.'

Then a pillow collided with his face.

W.P.C. Short grinned down at him. 'That's my name, don't wear it out!'

The door slammed shut.

**Okay, I was a little disheartened by the comments left last time (it was a general response of "what the heck's going on?" and I just thought "Jesus! This is RA all over again! Sod this!") so I took the chapter down. However, after a marvellously strange, albeit **_**encouraging,**_** PM from a certain Mr. Woland I've decided to give it another chance. If people don't like it this time, or find it too confusing (if you're a little confused that's fine - welcome to the world of reading my fanfics, they do make sense eventually, I promise!) then I'll call it a day. Heck, I know when to take a hint and if it's not liked *shrugs* I'm consign it to a dark place at the back of my hard drive. No worries!**

**But otherwise, my lovelies, what do you think? Honest, constructive criticism is still always welcome! IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS ****LOG IN**** BEFORE YOU REVIEW (if you can) OTHERWISE I CAN'T HELP YOU UNTIL I POST THE NEXT CHAPTER!**

**And - for those of you waiting for RA updates - I just got the first draft back from my beta so keep checking your inboxes! I'm not dead yet ;)**

**Cheers!**

**Holi**


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer - Not Eoin._

**1854 **_**Fraser's Mag **_**69 75. The gods of their final and accepted polytheism were, in point of fact, only those sublimer portions of nature which...they had not yet dared to reify.**

_"reify, v.". OED Online. June 2011. Oxford University Press. .com/view/Entry/161514?redirectedFrom=reify (accessed January 9, 2012)_**.**

Chapter 2 - Cells

'So…' drawled PC Kelp from his place in the passenger seat. 'Explain to me again why there's a naked man in the back of our car?'

Holly Short's brow creased. '_Because_, Kelp –'

'Holly! Holly, listen to me!'

The policewoman sighed. 'I thought I told you to be _quiet_, sir!'

Artemis was wriggling desperately in the back seat, straining against his cuffs to reach the safety divider. 'Holly! Holly, please –'

'Sir, I mean it. Shut up or I _will_shut you out.'

Artemis's chin jutted against the speech hatch. 'Holly! You've got to –!'

She reached back and slammed the hatch shut, reducing the teenager's pleas to unintelligible mumbles.

'Well,' sniffed Kelp primly, 'whatever trouble this gets you into just leave me _well_ out of it. I don't want any of _your_ dissident conduct going down on _my _record.'

Holly's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. 'He was caught harassing students, Graeme. What was I supposed to do? Wave at him as he ran by and carry on handing out parking tickets?'

'Yes!' exclaimed Graeme, his voice half an octave higher than usual. 'Because that's what being on traffic duty _means_!'

'Well, we'll just have to agree to disagree won't we?'

Kelp huffed. 'Yes. Yes, we shall.'

Holly rolled her eyes and pulled into the police HQ, bypassing the security gate and driving down the ramp beneath the building.

In the rear seat, Artemis gave up his fight to be heard. He stared glumly out of the window, the glare from the underground strip-lights striping against his naked skin.

That morning he had been happily (well, perhaps not _happily_) trapped inside his own mind, watching as an increasingly stricken Holly attempted to coax him back out again. He had watched the orderlies flood into his room, felt as his hair was sheared from his scalp, seen Holly's anguished profile as he'd been driven away from her. And then what? The lights of an operation theatre, small hands pushing him backwards, a plastic mask over his face and then… and then… nothing. He had woken here; in this alien world where Minerva could share his bed and Holly could arrest him for indecent exposure.

_I must be dreaming. I am either still anaesthetised or am lying in some form of coma resulting from surgery._

The car stopped. The ignition cut off and a few seconds later Artemis's door was wrenched open.

'Out you get.'

He squinted up into the light. The human Holly was stood directly in front of him, her brown eyes stern and business-like. 'Come on,' she snapped. 'Before one of us dies of old age.'

Artemis scowled at her. 'You could at least fetch me some clothes.'

'Kelp, hold the pillow.'

Kelp shuffled forward and Artemis's expression dropped. He heaved himself out of the car, the cushion barely keeping him decent. 'Happy?' he spat at Holly, once fully upright.

The policewoman smiled at him. 'Ecstatic,' she replied, before turning on her heel and striding towards the main building.

Artemis glared after her.

'Come on,' snapped Graeme and Artemis felt the pillow dip. He moved his head to voice his displeasure before realising, with a slight jolt, just how little he had to move. Kelp's face was just a few inches above his own, and the officer had to be at least six foot tall.

_I have grown. A lot._

'This way!'

Artemis looked forward to see Holly holding open a door. Behind her the sounds of a dozen men's voices were drifting out into the open.

The teenager paled. 'You cannot be –' But with a surprisingly firm hand, Kelp forced him inside.

They emerged in a wide corridor studded by groups of officers, mostly male, mostly holding clip-boards, either talking to hand-cuffed civilians or to each other. On the right stood a high, reinforced counter manned by a tubby man with a thick moustache and tonsure.

'Well, well, well,' boomed the man, leaning over the counter. 'Who's this sorry sod?'

Artemis's eyes widened.

_Mister Crampfit, the games master at St Bartleby's, sent to torture me again._

Heads were turning in his direction, necks craning, eyes widening. Some officers were raising their arms to point.

Holly pulled Artemis to her side, shielding his body from the majority of sight. 'Just get on with it, Crampfit. I've got things to do.'

Crampfit's smile stretched. 'Ey up, Short. Now just how did I know you'd be behind this then? Date gone wrong was it?' He winked at her lecherously.

Holly didn't return the gesture. 'Just shut up and process him, Crampfit, before I _break_ that smirk off your face.'

The man shifted quickly back behind his computer. 'Alright, alright, love, keep yer knickers on.' He coughed heavily and finally looked at Artemis. 'Name, lad.'

Artemis didn't say anything.

_What was it that Minerva called me?_

Crampfit banged the desk with a fat fist. 'You deaf? I said _name_.'

'Fowl. Artemis Fowl.'

'Ain't that a girl's name?'

Holly growled.

'_Alright_, _alright_. Date of birth?'

'First of the ninth, nineteen eighty nine.'

'And address?'

'Fowl Manor, County Dublin –'

Crampfit stopped typing. 'Fowl _what?_'

'Fowl _Manor_.'

The guardsman snorted. 'Artemis Fowl of Fowl Manor? Fuck off, lad, I weren't born yesterday. Now, give us your real name or I'll be charging you with obstruction.'

'I have _given _you my real name –'

'Oh for God's sake,' snarled Holly. Officers were getting closer now, some grinning, some shocked, but all wanting to come for a peep. 'Look,' she said to Artemis. 'The sooner you give your proper details, the sooner you'll be out of sight. So just stop being an idiot and give him your name and address.'

Artemis was belligerent. 'I have _given_ him my details. What else do you want me to _do_?'

'To tell the _truth_.'

'I _have_! One of the very few times I have actually _neglected_ to lie to the authorities! It is not _my_ fault that you have chosen not to believe me!'

Kelp piped up from behind. 'Maybe he's got some official ID on him?'

Artemis shot him a withering glance. 'And where, pray tell, would I be keeping it?'

Holly pulled him sharply back to face front. '_No_, Kelp,' she sighed. 'Not unless he's got a passport stuffed up his arse, I really don't think so.'

Crampfit interrupted. 'Well what's his name then?'

'Just write that down.'

'Write what down?'

Both Artemis and Holly yelled at him. '_Artemis Fowl!_'

Crampfit recoiled. 'Alright, alright! Blimey, keep your hair on…'

Once finished giving all his details, (of which every word was greeted with blatant scepticism) Artemis was forced to stamp his fingerprints on an official looking form and led off to be photographed. They decided they could skip the strip search.

'Smile please!'

Artemis's face remained a hard grimace.

_Flash._

'And turn to the right!'

_Flash._

'And turn to the left!'

_Flash._

The photographer leant out from behind his tri-pod. 'Beautiful, sweetheart, just beautiful.'

There was a roar of laughter as the dozen or so officers who had come to watch finally broke their composure. Holly strode across to Artemis. 'Come on,' she'd muttered, quickly giving him back his pillow. 'Let's get you in a cell…'

Eleven hours later and he was still in that cell; or more specifically, he was laid back on the hard cell-bench, brooding. If this really _was_ all a dream it was certainly a trying one. The police hadn't been able to find a single trace of "Artemis Fowl" on any of their databases, nor a single brick of "Fowl Manor". In this world he and his home simply didn't exist, and he had been pulled out of his cell to be questioned about this fact no fewer than nine times. He'd been pleaded with, threatened, and given stiff-talking-to's by at least three dozen officers, but in the end he had had no choice but to repeat his original identity over and over… and over again.

The peep-slot in his door suddenly slid open. A face appeared in the hole, grinning and eager. Then it spotted the teenager lying on the bed and dropped with disappointment. The slot slid shut again. Artemis scowled darkly.

After his forth interview someone had finally taken pity on him, opening his cell door and tossing in a pair of ratty track-suit bottoms and a police training t-shirt at least three sizes too big for him. He'd pulled them on without complaint, never having appreciated cloth more in his entire life. But a steady stream of officers and varying other police staff had still been coming to his cell hoping to catch a glimpse and a giggle at his expense.

The teenager adjusted himself on the hard mattress.

_What am I supposed to do? Just wait to wake up?_

It wasn't like he had many other options. He had asked earlier for his one phone-call home but on typing in the number and putting the receiver to his ear had been told in no uncertain tones that the number did not exist. He had tried Butler, each of his parent's mobiles, he'd even tried Juliet's number in South America – none of them had worked. He'd slammed the phone back to the wall and been returned to his cell.

The peep-slot slid open again.

'If you were hoping to see a naked body then I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you,' drawled Artemis without bothering to look up.

There was a clunk and the door pulled open completely. A figure stood in the doorway, flanked by two uniformed officers.

'Disappoint me?' Artemis sat quickly upright. The figure in the door took a long drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, observing the boy before him with clear distaste. 'From what people have been telling me _your_ body could disappoint a cat.'

Artemis stared up at him.

_Commander Julius Root._

The human commander was a little less red in the face than the elfin one had been, but there was still a definite beet-root tinge to his cheeks. His grey hair still stood on end as if he was being electrocuted and the lower buttons of his shirt strained to cover his still slightly portly stomach. He was of average height, shorter than the now sprouted Artemis, but the expression in his eyes more than made up for any lost intimidation.

The commander moved into the cell, the two other officers darting past him like Rottweilers released from their leads. Artemis was hauled to his feet, his arms pushed behind his back and handcuffs snapped about his wrists.

'Where are you taking me?' he demanded.

Root took another drag of his cigarette. 'A friend of yours has turned up at the front desk claiming he can tell us who you are. Seeing as no-one else has managed to drag anything up on you, and frankly I'm getting sick of hearing about it, we're going to see if he's telling the truth.'

He gave a swift nod and Artemis was bustled from the cell. He was led up a flight of stairs and out into a corridor nicer and brighter than any he'd been dragged down so far. Curious faces poked out from open office doorways, coffee mugs and folders in their arms. Artemis endured their gawping with his jaw set and was eventually halted at an interview-room door. The first officer pulled it open and the second pushed the teenager inside.

It was a relatively small room, dominated by a low plastic table of the type you'd usually find in a classroom. Three seats were dotted about it, thinly padded and straight-backed. One was already occupied.

Artemis gaped at the figure openly.

'Mister Butler?' inquired the human Commander, side-stepping Artemis to approach the table. 'I'm DCI Root, and I've been told that you can shed a little light on our problem with Mister _Fowl_ here.'

Artemis still couldn't quite take it in.

_Butler?_

But, really, who else could it be? The man in front of him must have been nearly seven foot tall and had enough muscles to fit out two Mr Universes and still have some bicep to spare. He bore the familiar, almost inky-black eyes, the thin lips, the narrow nose. But his head was matted with a short crop of yellow hair and instead of his customary suit he wore battered jeans and an equally beat-up army jacket. The Butler Artemis knew was forty years old, though physically pushed into his sixties due to the _En Fin_ incident so long ago, _this_Butler was barely into his mid-twenties. There were no crinkles at the corners of his eyes, no slackness at all in his skin – he was young and strong; in the prime of his life.

Artemis was shaken from his sudden reverie by an officer's hand on his shoulder, forcing him down into one of the remaining seats.

'I've got all the documents,' said the younger Butler, in trade-mark, gravel tones. 'It took me a while to find them all, but I've got them.'

Root took the outstretched papers. Artemis remained silent, unable to keep his eyes from his altered manservant, and then Root placed one of the papers down on the desk. Words immediately jumped out at him.

_Delusionary._

_Possible psychosis._

_Long-term rehabilitation._

The paper was pulled swiftly away again.

'Ah,' said Root grimly. 'This certainly _does_ explain a lot.' He flicked to the back of the last document – a battered British passport. 'Alice Sweete,' he announced, and then looked down at Artemis. 'Well, Mister_Sweete_, I see no reason to keep you here any longer. I think you should return to your home with Mister Butler here and try and recover the rest of your evening.'

The commander nodded at the blond across the table and made to leave the room.

Artemis frowned.

_Alice Sweete?_

'I'm sorry,' said Artemis, shaking his head slightly, 'but I think there's been some form of misunderstanding.'

Root turned back to him, a look of faint surprise on his face. 'Misunderstanding..?'

'I am not,' Artemis looked down at the passport left on the table. '_Alice Sweete_.'

A large hand suddenly gripped his arm. 'Come on, Al,' said the blond Butler, his eyes hard. 'Let's go _home_.'

Artemis looked up at him 'What–?'

'If it's the indecent exposure thing you're worried about,' interrupted Root, an amused smile playing about his lips. 'Then don't worry. In light of all things, we'll drop the charges.'

An officer clicked a key into Artemis's handcuffs, dropping them from about his wrists. The Butler's hand tightened on his arm again and he was pulled upwards.

'Come on,' repeated the giant darkly. '_Home._'

* * *

><p>Despite the room containing four living occupants there was not a single living sound to be heard: only the steady beep of mechanical monitors and the rasp of artificial breath. Angeline Fowl stood with her hand over her mouth, tears silently tracking over her fingers. Butler stood at her shoulder. Holly was sat in the room's only chair, her head sunk into her hands. Artemis was on the bed, his eyes closed, a thick tube lodged in his open mouth and a white sheet pulled up to his chest, rising and falling with the bellows of a nearby machine.<p>

'Oh, my baby,' whispered Angeline.

Holly clutched tighter at her hair whilst Butler remained motionless. Angeline approached the bed, the linen of her long trousers brushing Holly's knees. She knelt to the floor.

'Arty.' She stroked the skin of her son's pale forehead. 'Come on, my darling. You need to wake up. Everyone's waiting to see you.' She attempted a smile but it trembled and cracked. 'Come now, Artemis. I've never known you be so quiet. What about THE PROJECT, eh? And all your other schemes? Why are you being so–'

A firm hand landed on her shoulder. Angeline looked up, then back to the bed. Butler cupped her elbow in one massive palm and pulled her to her feet.

'C'mon, Missus Fowl,' he murmured. 'Why don't we go and get you a cup of tea?'

For a moment they simply stood there, Angeline staring at her motionless child and Butler supporting her arm. Then she nodded, barely a tip of her head, and the manservant guided her from the room.

'I'll be back soon, my love,' she croaked. 'I'll be back.'

The door closed softly behind them.

Holly opened her eyes, staring out between thin fingers before slowly raising her head. It was no little effort. She hadn't slept for forty six hours, willing herself awake throughout Artemis's surgery. She had wanted to be there when he woke up; she had wanted to be able to answer all his inevitable and probably innumerable questions. Instead she had been met with a very grim faced surgeon, and had been shown into a room filled with bloodied silver instruments and the faint, bleach-masked smell of sweat.

He had never looked deader. Not even when he had lain beneath her in that gorilla cage so long ago, his body limp, his skin the colour of milk. This went beyond that. He was unrecognisable. His head was now a Frankenstein creation, his shorn scalp stitched together like a badly repaired rag doll. A long bruise stretched from the sewing-site, reaching down across his cheekbone and ending in an ugly black pockmark under his left eye. The rest of his face was obscured by tubes – one down his throat and another two snaking into his nostrils.

Holly had closed her eyes tight, taken a deep breath, before forcing herself to speak. 'Does he need all these pipes in his mouth? And the stitches? Can't you just heal those?'

The sprite had shaken his head sharply. 'No. There's to be no magical contact for the patient for at least eight weeks; it could risk triggering a relapse of the complex.'

The room had fallen silent.

'So when does he wake up?'

'We don't know.'

'What do you mean you don't _know_?'

The sprite had looked away, checking a suspended pouch that was slowly dripping something into one of Artemis's tubes. 'I shouldn't be telling you this, Captain Short. His next of kin should be informed first.'

Holly had almost growled. 'Well while they're not here I'm the closest he's got.'

The surgeon had hesitated. 'Yes. I suppose.' He had looked up from his patient and stared her straight in the eye. 'There were unforeseen complications.'

'_What complications?_'

'Calm yourself. The patient has been taking medication under the direction of Doctor Argon and I… _we_ underestimated how long that medication would take to leave Mister Fowl's system. As a result some of it has affected the barbiturates used to induce temporary coma.'

'What? What does that mean? _Coma_? You're telling me he's in a _coma_?'

'Yes, essentially. But a far deeper one than planned. He could wake up tomorrow, in a year, or perhaps…' Holly had glared at him, her fingers balling into fists, daring him to say it, 'never.'

* * *

><p>The surrogate Butler had escorted Artemis quickly from the room. Once clear, he'd then yanked him down a corridor and two flights of stairs, stormed him up to the reception desk, signed the teenager's multiple discharge forms and hauled him away again by the scruff of the neck. He'd dragged him out the main entrance, down the front steps, across a gravel car park and finally shoved him towards a P-reg <em>Nissan Micra<em>.

'Whoa!' protested Artemis, his hands stretching out to stop himself slamming into a car bonnet for the second time that day. 'Was that _really _necessary?'

The blonde had chuckled darkly before swinging himself into the driver's seat. He reached across to the passenger door and pulled up the lock. 'Get in,' he mouthed, his expression leaving no room for protest.

Artemis glared back at him.

_This is Butler. Even in a dream, and in this form, he surely must offer some salvation._

So he followed the appeal of his stinging bare feet, opened the door and got in the car.

'Right,' said Butler as soon as the teenager was inside. 'Have this.' He shoved an open bottle of water into the boy's hand.

Artemis scowled. 'What's this for?'

The blonde reached over the teenager's knees and slammed a fist against the glove box. The front fell open, allowing a labelled bottle of tablets to roll into the crook of the latch. 'To take those with.'

Artemis took the bottle. 'These… these are antipsychotics.'

'Yep,' said the blonde, twisting a key into the ignition. 'The ones you _promised me_ you were still taking.'

Artemis frowned. The engine sputtered, attempting to turn over, but died. Butler slapped a hand against the steering wheel.

'Well?' he snapped, glancing at Artemis.

The teenager was still looking at the bottle with wary eyes.

_Is this reality encroaching on fantasy? Am I_meant_to take this medication?_

He hesitated, then popped the cap and poured two thin pills onto his palm.

_Will I wake up if I do..?_

He could feel the giant's gaze on the side of his face, waiting.

'Alright,' said Artemis, scowling again.

_Bottoms up._

He tipped his head back, cupping the pills into his mouth and following them with a quick swallow from the bottle of water.

'Open your mouth,' ordered the Butler.

'What?'

'_Open it._'

Artemis sighed heavily. 'Is this really necessary?'

'Just _do it_.'

The teenager raised a thin eyebrow. Butler shot out a hand and grabbed his jaw.

'Alright!' yelled Artemis, twisting away into the door. 'Okay! There! … See?'

The blonde grunted, satisfied. 'Now stick out your tongue.'

'Now, really, that _is_ unnecessary.'

'Just _do it_.'

The teenager glared at him and, like he had seen Myles and Beckett do many times, poked out his tongue. 'Alright? Do I pass the test?'

The blonde nodded and tried the key again. This time the engine kicked into life. He hissed quietly in celebration and reached for his seatbelt. Artemis did the same, though his hands felt strangely heavy.

'Home?' asked the teenager blinking hard.

The Butler nodded. 'Yep. Though I doubt you'll be conscious when we get there.'

'Conscious?' asked Artemis, with emphasized sibilance. 'Not. Conscious? What?'

The blonde flashed him an amused grin. 'Nighty night, Al.'

Artemis tried to shake the spots from his eyes. 'My namthe's snot… Al,' he protested. 'It's… It's… Arth…'

'Your name's Arse?'

'No… it's…'

And he was gone.

**The comments improved - woo! So here's the long belated second chapter!**

**Please be kind and leave a review - and log in if you can so I can reply :)**

**Happy 2012!**

**Holi**


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer - I'm not Eoin Colfer. _

Chapter 3 - Pasta

_Smack._

_Smack, smack._

_Smack._

_Smack-smack, smack-smack-smack, smack-smack._

Artemis awoke to a face full of damp fabric.

_Smack._

What was that sound?

_Smack, smack._

His mind cleared on the last 'smack'.

What was the last thing he remembered? He'd been collected from the cell… and driven home by Butler. But… he'd passed out somewhere on the journey as he couldn't recall anything before that. Artemis would never let something like sleep get in the way of his determining what was going on. He must have been intoxicated or drugged somehow. Did Butler _dr_-?

_Smack._

_Smack-smack-smack._

What was that irritating noise? Artemis opened his eyes cautiously to find that his face was buried in an item of clothing of sorts.

_Smack-smack-smack, smack-smack-smack-smack-smack._

Artemis turned his head ever-so-slightly to the left, keeping the rest of his body in a relaxed imitation of sleep. His arms were stiff by his sides, aching, and something solid was digging into his chest. He shifted his weight to ease the pressure.

_Smack-smack-smack-smack._

He lifted his head to look around, blinking a few times to adjust to vision. He was looking at a blank wall, slightly dirty, with bits of blu-tac stuck to it in various places. He glanced down to see he'd been asleep with his head buried in a coat, which was wet with what appeared to be his own saliva. Disgusted, Artemis sat up immediately, nearly falling of the small couch he had been sprawled on. Whatever Butler had given him, it had been rather powerful.

_Smack-smack, smack-smack smack._

He glanced up, seeing movement. It turned out that the noise was a twenty-year-old Butler. In what appeared to be a living room, the seven-foot Eurasian was drilling moves on a target bag, stringing them together with expert ease and a silent bounce on his toes. The target bag was hanging from the ceiling, and it was, in itself, pretty unusual. It looked to be made of some sort of wood with a covering of faded, patterned cloth. Butler zipped around it, striking faster than Artemis could follow, making it apparent that he definitely hadn't lost any talent in this alternate reality.

The living room was small, but large enough to be called a living room, and contained what seemed like enough space for training. In fact, that seemed to be all the living room was adapted for; all there was apart from training equipment and the couch was a small desk in the corner. There was an entrance that presumably led to the kitchen or front door, and another door in the left wall looked like it led to a large closet of some kind.

"Up already?" grunted the man, launching a series of alternating kicks on the target. Each blow sent it spinning wildly.

Artemis nodded. Judging by the fact that he was still conscious, Butler was one of his friends in this reality. He was thankful for this, and wanted to try and to keep it that way. "Yes. But that was rather a heavy dose of hypnotics. Was there really a need?"

Butler looked at him sharply. "Of course there was! Don't you feel better now? You've done crazier things before, but sleeping with Minerva and getting arrested for indecent exposure is definitely not something I anticipated. I'm just glad I reached you when I did," he said, before launching another spinning kick.

"Clearly," murmured Artemis.

So in this world he appeared to have some form of mental defect too. Interesting. The question was: how real was this world? And why was he in it? Had he died in Argon's clinic? Was this what came after…?

At that moment, the door that Artemis had previously thought to be to a large closet opened, and a teenaged girl walked out, humming good-naturedly. The strong smell of conditioner rushed out of the bathroom and filled the room, making Artemis wrinkle his nose slightly.

The girl shook her head. "Honestly, Dom, do you really have to leave the lid off the Radox every time?"

Juliet Butler looked every bit the same in this reality as the last one – albeit slightly smaller. She had the same blonde ponytail and the same striking features that were a trademark of the Butlers. Artemis was relatively unsurprised at her unanticipated appearance, seeing as he'd by now noticed that the personas from real life seemed to be reflected here, if a little distorted.

Butler delivered a powerful open-palmed strike to the target, sending it swinging, and then turned to his sister. "Good evening to you too, Juliet." He smiled. "And look – Al turned up. Guess where I found him."

Juliet looked at Artemis. "That's the longest one yet, Al. Two nights – where did you even go? And nice clothes, by the way." She grinned.

Artemis frowned. "I seemed to have come to my senses a little too late…"

Juliet almost squealed. "You went to Minerva's, didn't you? And… so, did you…_do _it?"

Artemis looked at Butler. A crazed Juliet could only complicate things further at the moment, if she was anything like she was in real life.

Butler was unwrapping his hand bandages. "No, he didn't. He tried to escape, and got thrown in a cell for a couple of hours."

Juliet tutted. "Like the local police have anything more important to be fighting. And what do you mean, 'escape'?"

Butler shrugged, walking over to the desk in the corner and picking up a clipboard. "They didn't give me any specifics."

"And it's probably better not to go into specifics," Artemis muttered.

As a slow grin slid across Juliet's face, he pointed back behind him. "I need to go and sort out a couple of things… in my room…"

* * *

><p>After some exploration, Artemis stood in a small box-room that turned out to be his bedroom. The flat really was abysmally small, with only two small bedrooms, a living room, an extremely small kitchen and one bathroom. Needless to say, it was a steep fall from Fowl Manor.<p>

He'd deduced that in this world he resided here, as a student of some kind, and owned the name 'Alice'. Now _that_ was embarrassing. 'Artemis' was a complex name, with a story and meaning behind it. 'Alice' was a ridiculously common name, containing no immediate meaning besides linking most simple-minded people to the cringe-worthy novel 'Alice in Wonderland'. And it was, above all, _blatantly_ female.

This room was supposedly Artemis's, but all evidence indicated the opposite. It was extremely small – possibly even smaller than the cell he'd been in earlier. There was an almost disturbing lack of furniture, but the room somehow still managed to be full. Clothes littered the floor, books littered the clothes, and litter littered everything else. Crumpled paper, open textbooks and scrunched-up socks stared back at him wherever he looked. Indeed, the only spot in the room that appeared to be somewhat 'tidy' was a small shelf on his right, and even that was packed with overfilled ring-binders, looking uncannily like one of Mulch's 'killer' rock sandwiches. Artemis Fowl had never in his entire life kept a room that wasn't immaculate. Untidiness was inefficiency – even as a child he'd deemed it important to keep things in order. This was not a good start.

And the clothes. Ordinary clothes – jeans, ridiculously casual jumpers and even a couple of T-Shirts. It was embarrassing to say the least. Even so, Artemis was pleased to find a suit in the meagre selection of clothing, and he set it aside to change into after he'd given the room as thorough an inspection as he could bear to.

Above all, the bedroom looked to him as what would be inhabited by a hectic teenager.

He picked up a book from the floor. It said 'Chemistry: The Central Science', in small printed letters on the cover. So Artemis was studying chemistry?

He paused for a second. Did the Artemis, or _Alice_, of here not have his intelligence? Indeed, _he_ had completed his PhD in chemistry at the age of eight-and-a-half. This Alice person seemed only a quarter of the way through it, and only at the age of nineteen.

So in this world he was 'normal'? Artemis frowned. How pathetic.

As he put the book down, his eyes flicked around the rest of the room, hoping to find at least something indicating the _real_ him. There were a couple of CDs resting on the shelf and he went over to look at them. Fortunately, they were classical works – two compilations of them, to be exact.

"Dancla… Kadosa," he said out loud, smiling as he glanced through the contents on the back.

What he needed now was something soft, soothing even, to help him think. He needed to figure out where he was, why he was here and, most importantly, how to get back to the real world.

He looked around for a CD player and found a small one hidden underneath a pair of cheap trousers with the power-plug badly Sellotaped into its side. It would have to do, he decided, opening the CD slot and placing a disc inside.

Soon, a pleasant nocturne was resonating through the room and Artemis turned his attention back once more to the shelf, satisfied. The folders that were squeezed in-between the slightly-scratched wood had scribbled names on the sides – one read 'LECTURE NOTES' and seemed to be especially large. Another said 'FINANCES', but the third caught his attention. It simply had the word 'MISC.', and Artemis had hacked into enough computers to know that 'misc.' folders rarely had unimportant things inside them. So he picked out the folder, being careful not to spill any of the others, and hefted it in an arm. It was rather heavy, and he carried it over to the bed, dropping it next to the pillow.

He sat down next to it, staring at the undecorated cover. He'd been asleep for a long time – daylight was fading fast, and a clock on the wall indicated a quarter past seven. Thankfully, all of the drowsiness from the pill had worn off by now, and Artemis was wide awake – at his near-full potential to begin to figure out how he was on this surrogate Earth, and why.

* * *

><p>Argon glanced at the monitors briefly as he entered the hospital room. They were perfectly normal. The human was asleep, still in his coma – that much was evident. And yet, his heart was beating as if he was perfectly fine. Extraordinary.<p>

Holly was still on the bedside chair. She'd fallen asleep, having stayed up all night. Argon did feel a little sorry for her – this kid was probably _never_ going to wake up, Fowl or not. Most fairies in a coma did, but the problem with this was that it was no normal coma. Normal comas did not stump doctors or psychologists. This, from what Argon had deduced, was a guilt-induced shutdown of the body, ordered by the mind itself. Atlantis Complex was a very strong disease.

The mind controls the body. Argon supposed that in this case, the Fowl boy had lost control of his mind – and a mind like his, out of control? Who knew? Argon wondered if the boy was really awake in there, and thinking about it. This was the problem with mental patients, and comas. There was usually so much waiting and wondering – only someone with a huge reserve of patience could put up with this. Luckily, Argon had that. And a very generous salary was also welcome into the bargain.

The boy twitched, a mere centimetre. Argon didn't miss it, of course. He immediately picked up a clipboard off the bedside table and jotted it down. This was the third registerable movement the patient had made so far. The other two he'd seen on camera – short jerks of the arm. If Argon could figure out a pattern between these, he might possibly be a step closer to a breakthrough. It was a long shot, but with health, all points had to be considered.

"How is he doing?" The elf was awake now, her voice hoarse with misuse. She coughed to clear her throat.

Argon smiled. "He's doing just fine." That was the standard reassurance-talk. Coupled with a pleasant expression and a soothing tone, it could work wonders.

Holly wasn't having any of it. "Truthfully."

His smile slipped a couple of notches. "He's fine. As you can see, his heart is beating at a perfectly normal rate."

"Then why isn't he _awake_?" She almost hissed. Argon was sure she wanted reassurance, but she was smart enough to detect nonsense when she heard it. How could he offer real reassurance where it didn't exist?

"It's a mystery – we are doing all we can to figure things out," he said, his smile almost non-existent now. "Honestly, the human's condition hasn't deteriorated." _Yet_, he added silently.

She drew her knees up to her chest, staring once again at Artemis. "I see." Either she was satisfied with the explanation, or she knew he didn't know any more on the topic. Argon suspected the latter.

He pulled out a packet and placed it on the table. "The nurses will be in after an hour to administer nourishment."

With that, he turned and headed back out of the door towards the next room, thinking about the effects of this coma. Maybe he'd get someone to question Koboi about her self-induced comas – a connection could be made. For now, though, the human would simply have to endure.

* * *

><p>Artemis opened the ring-binder and skimmed the first page. It read 'Alice Sweete', nineteen. Sweete? He'd hoped that had been a bad joke from Root, but it looked like this was actually his surname. Despicable, he thought, as he turned to the next page. This time it was a photograph. Him, younger, standing with an equally youthful Butler at the ruins of a castle, grinning like an idiot. The page after was another photograph, this time of him and a blonde haired boy he didn't recognise. Of course – this Alice must have had a lot of different friends, Butler just being one of them. Indeed, one of the things Artemis was finding most difficult to adapt to was the fact of Butler's age. Artemis had barely known Butler when the bodyguard was in his thirties, and could vaguely remember him being young, but Butler in his early twenties was almost surreal. Well, this whole <em>place<em> was surreal.

Many of the next pages were, disappointingly, photographs. There were quite a few photos with Minerva – who seemed to be a student like Alice, albeit slightly younger. Most of their photographs were taken holding music instruments, or playing them. An orchestra of some sort? At least Alice did _something_ worthy of Artemis' character. From what he could see, Minerva was a good friend of his in this world. Artemis hoped he wouldn't run into her again – she'd caused him enough trouble already.

A sleeve slid out of the binder as he turned the next page – and his eyes widened.

The first piece of paper displayed an incredibly accurate sketch of none other than Mulch Diggums. It was quite the sight; the dwarf had a disturbing smile plastered to his face, the enormous tombstone-teeth revealed in all their glory.

Now _this_ was a development. Unless, of course, Mulch existed here exactly as he did _there_.

Artemis removed the sleeve, glancing through all the images one by one. There was an equally disturbing close-up of Julius Root's face, shaded dark to express his ever-red hue. There was also a detailed drawing of Holly, kitted in the exact same jumpsuit that he'd seen her wear last, and with her gun aiming outwards. All of the pictures depicted them in fairy form.

_What…?_

The Holly Artemis had seen here was a human police officer; the Root here was an older one (besides being _dead_ in reality) and Artemis guessed that Mulch had a similar doppelgänger. Just like he, Artemis, had 'Alice Sweete'.

So why the images? Was this really a dream? Or… could this be an alternate or parallel universe? Just because he hadn't openly witnessed one when he'd gone back in time to save Jayjay, didn't mean they didn't exist. In fact, they most likely did exist – they had to, after all, due to the fact that time travel had been possible in the first place. It would also explain Root being alive here.

He could possibly have opened a link between universes. But it was unlikely, since he'd been hospitalised, and plenty of time had passed since the time jaunt.

And if this was a parallel universe then why wasn't Holly here too, along with him in the situation he was currently in? Their lives were intertwined enough that however small a hole opened up in the universe, she would most likely have arrived here too. Butler, also. Even Mulch, although the less he thought of life 'intertwined with Mulch's', the better.

It was a possibility, then. It wasn't exactly theory material, but Artemis didn't exactly have a lot to work with.

He turned his attention back to the binder and began to flick through it – but a voice called from the kitchen. "Al! Dinner!" It was Butler.

Artemis hurriedly put the sketches back in their sleeve before locking it in the ring-binder.

As he replaced the binder, he made a mental note to give it a better look later. He would check thoroughly through the rest of it, and all of the other ones too. The sleeve of drawings in this binder had been hidden somewhat, if pathetically, but that could mean other evidence was hidden too. And nothing could hide from Artemis Fowl.

He walked through to the kitchen through the living room, crinkling his nose slightly as the smell of burning reached him.

The kitchen was expectedly small, so Artemis wasn't disappointed when he entered. It was about the same size as his little bedroom, with counters around the walls and a small, round table in the corner. In the middle of it sat a large bowl of some black-looking pasta concoction. That explained the burning smell.

"Sorry, Al, she cooked earlier – I begged her not to, but she insisted and insisted…"

Butler was already seated at the table. Artemis sat down, very much not wanting to taste the cremated meal that Butler was now piling onto his plate. Nevertheless, he was extremely hungry, and he soon found himself eating it at a steady pace. It was bland, and certainly a long way from the culinary masterpieces of the cook at Fowl Manor (and Butler there too), but it was satisfying.

"It's nice," Artemis lied.

Butler snorted disbelievingly. "Don't bother, she's out on a date. But can you imagine? She paid for cooking classes – twenty quid each! She ended up borrowing half of it from me. I was hoping it would pay off…" He shook his head, and ate some more.

"I see how that could be frustrating," replied Artemis. For the first time ever, he was feeling awkward around Butler – something that had never happened before.

"Definitely. Oh, by the way, here's your phone. You left it on, and it was making such a racket that I had to turn it off." Butler pulled out a small, thick Nokia and passed it over the table.

Artemis took it with slightly forced gratitude – after all, he would rather no phone at all than one like this – however, it would still prove useful. He looked at the display. He had thirty-nine unread messages. Sender: Minerva.

Butler grimaced over his food. "Is she harassing you?"

"It appears so," Artemis sighed, scrolling through the text messages and wondering just how close Alice was to Minerva. He'd originally hoped the scenario he'd woken up in had only been a 'one-night-stand'.

"Are you two actually together then?"

Artemis selected and deleted the messages, all of which seemed to be in capital letters. "No, but she seems to think otherwise."

"And last night…?"

"I don't know what happened," said Artemis. "Waking up in someone else's bed isn't the most pleasant of experiences, least of all waking up in Minerva's bed, getting kicked out for no discernible reason, and having to run down the street completely naked apart from a small pillow for decency."

Butler was sympathetic. "Women are certainly unpredictable. You can expect the unexpected, but you can't expect a female, as my Uncle Major used to say. Then again, he's in prison."

Artemis almost choked. "I… yes, I suppose so." Uncle Major? The real Butler had only once mentioned his uncle after the incident involving the Russian Mafia, in which the Major had died in the explosion of the Fowl Star.

"I agree, you know. Even Juliet – you should see the guy she's dating. Almost as rough as she is. 'The Troll', they call him – and I've only ever seen him in a photo."

Artemis was still dwelling over 'Uncle Major'. It confirmed the fact even further that personas from the real world appeared to be reflected here, if not in completely different situations. He caught the word 'troll'.

"Sorry, did you say… 'troll'?"

"Yes, the guy Juliet's dating – 'The Troll'. Massive hulk of a guy, from the grainy photo I saw on Juliet's phone. She met him at a club last time she came to visit, apparently. She's going to see him tonight."

'The Troll'. Artemis made the connection; five years ago, when he kidnapped Holly. The LEP had released a troll into the manor, and Butler had somehow fought it off, although he wasn't sure exactly how. He'd also experienced trolls himself, when Opal had left him and Holly in the Eleventh Wonder of the World. They were unpleasant, to say the least.

And personas in the real world were reflected here.

Was 'The Troll' that persona? Or was it just a coincidence?

"Al? Alice?"

Yes. It was a coincidence.

_'Coincidence' is a term used by the common mind for something that cannot be explained._

Artemis stood up sharply. "Butler, we have to go, now."

"What?" Butler was surprised.

"Juliet is in danger. You said she was on a date with this 'Troll' person. Where is she right now?"

"She'll be with him right now… but don't worry, she'll be fine. But now I'm more worried about you, are you sure you're feeling better?"

Artemis headed towards the door, trying to drag Butler along. He ended up hauling the giant Eurasian's arm, feebly.

Butler looked perplexed. "Al, are you sure you didn't p**-**"

"Listen, Butler." Artemis looked him in the eye. "Butler. Domovoi. Your sister is in danger and she could die if we don't leave at once."

Butler raised an eyebrow. "Domovoi? It's _Dominic,_ remember?"

"Butle-"

"And what's all this last-name stuff going on? Al, I think your condition's worsening."

"Butler! Dominic, Domovoi, whichever suits you best! Do you understand what I'm saying? Do you want Juliet to _die_?" Artemis gave the arm another yank.

The shock value worked, and Butler allowed Artemis to pull him a step forward. "She- she won't die. Are you sure you're not just a little bit paranoid at the mo-"

"No. Trust me on this."

Butler paused and looked at him closely, searching for signs of a prank.

Finding nothing of the sort, he headed towards the door, leaving the food abandoned halfway. "I'll get the keys."

**Hi. Hopefully you've noticed by now that I'm not HolidayBoredom. If you've been following this, you'll know that the first 2 chapters were written by her, and she put it up for adoption a while back. It may have taken some time (OK, 2 months) but I wrote the third chapter and I intend to carry on, permitting. I hope you enjoyed this, and do give me some feedback. Thanks!**


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